by Al Macy
Cobb said, “I look back at the stabilizer, expecting to see, I don’t know, some anomaly or deformed part.”
“It’s the sphere. It’s just there, flying along in formation with us. Like, this close.” Salty held his hands inches apart.
Cobb took up the narrative. “I cut the speed and try some evasive maneuvers, but I can’t shake it. It’s like it’s been welded on.”
“Now, are you guys ready for the piece of resistance?” Salty took a big bite of sausage.
Major Cobb sat back and smiled.
Salty finished his bite, swallowed and said, “Damned if that sphere doesn’t move right over my head, and, I’m not making this up, it starts tapping on the canopy. Tap, tap, tap. Just like that.” Salty mimed straining to look straight up and tapped the butt of his fork on his forehead.
Cobb said, “I’m subsonic now, but the sphere is just totally messing with the aerodynamics. I’d figure out how to compensate for this thing or, I should say, the computer would figure it out, and then it would move. It’s like we had this huge beach ball glued to the plane. Alarms sounding all over the place.”
“So far,” said Salty, “everything was nice-nice. Just a little friendly ‘Hello there, Earthlings, isn’t this fun?’ tapping. But then—”
Cobb slapped the table hard enough to rattle the silverware. “Then all hell breaks loose. The electronics go out for about one second, and I find out how well this plane flies without the computer.”
“And the answer is …” Salty paused dramatically then pointed his thumb down and made a wrong-answer-buzzer sound. “It doesn’t.”
“Right, we have a flameout and I have no control over the plane. I try everything, working like mad. We start descending. The manual says ‘Do not delay ejection if the aircraft is in an uncontrolled condition,’ and I tell Salty to get ready to eject. But I’ve got to hand it to the programmers; the engines restart like clockwork, and we’re soon straight and level. I didn’t do a thing. I’m going to kiss those guys if I ever find them.”
“But we aren’t out of the woods yet,” said Salty. “Our little adventure kind of shook things loose.”
“Right.” Cobb nodded. “We have five systems down, including the one we needed most, the inertial guidance. According to that, we’re somewhere over South America.”
“So we continue with man’s oldest navigation tool, my friend and yours, good old dead reckoning. We know how fast we’re going and what direction, but because of our little do-si-do with our outer space nincompoop, we’re a bit fuzzy on current location.” Salty chugged down the rest of his orange juice then reached over to the pitcher and poured himself another glass.
Jake watched him chug it down. How does he stay so slim?
Cobb shook his head. “I’m hoping the clouds will break by the time we get to DC, but no such luck. I tell Salty it’s time to bring out the very latest in seventeen-hundreds technology.”
“So I bring out Sexy Sadie the Sexy Sextant. I’ve had this girl for seventy years. I thought you might like to meet her.” Salty put the teak case on the table, undid the latches, and pulled out the sextant.
“How old are you, Salty?” asked Charli.
“I’m ninety-three years young, Ma’am.” He held up his sextant so all could see it and then gently placed it back in the case. “So, Frank keeps the ship nice and steady, and I take a sight—easiest sight I ever took, much easier than on a rocking sailboat. And guess what? We’re already one hundred miles out to sea. From then on it’s a piece of cake. We make a U-turn, head up the Potomac, make a pass at the White House, then on to Reagan. The rest is history.”
Sophia tugged on Jake’s sleeve. He leaned down, and she whispered in his ear. “Me gusta Senor Salty.” I like Mister Salty.
Charli must have caught it, and she looked at Jake with raised eyebrows. He nodded. That’s right, Sophia’s talking again. Charli went back to her breakfast. She smiled and had a tear in her eye.
The chief technician came in and walked over to the table. “Mr. President, we have Edwards Air Force Base on the shortwave.”
* * *
The White House’s central heating was down. Jake shivered by the windows of the Oval Office in his LL Bean down vest. He hugged himself. Wish I had my wool hat.
A state-of-the-art, battery-powered shortwave transceiver sat on the historic “Resolute” desk. This was the best place for it; the president would be using it frequently. Jake turned away from the windows and joined the president.
Hallstrom spoke into a large desk microphone. “General Stetson, I can’t tell you how glad we were to get word that the outage isn’t worldwide. What’s the latest information we have on this event?”
Stetson’s voice was clear. “Within the area of the disruption, all electrical devices were destroyed. This wasn’t anything like the EMP events we’ve been preparing for. There was no evidence of an explosion, and the destruction was more comprehensive. For example, a Faraday cage would—”
“Hold on,” Hallstrom said. “What’s that?”
“Sorry. It’s simply an enclosure that’s surrounded by conductive material. It blocks out electrical waves. Normally, if you were to put some electronic device inside one of these cages, it would be unaffected by the EMP—protected. That’s not the case here. Whatever Cronkite did worked via some other mechanism.”
“General, Jake Corby here.” He leaned over to the mic. “What about older equipment, cars with no microchips, for example? Isn’t that usually immune?”
“Yes, sir, that’s correct, but whatever this event was, it also put those things out of commission.”
“What do you see as the biggest problem?” The president checked off an item on his list.
“People who are dependent on medical devices. We’re setting up evacuations for DevDeps—sorry, device-dependent people. We’ll have many commercial airliners flying to major airports to get those people out.”
“Do you have enough planes and pilots for that?”
“Considering that all normal flights are suspended, yes, we have a lot of aircraft available.”
Stetson went on to detail other plans and ideas.
When he finished, Hallstrom asked, “What about additional strikes? Could Cronkite just do it again?”
“He certainly could. We’re pretty defenseless. We’re looking into whether anything deep underground survived and seeing if there’s anything that can be done, but so far the answer is no. We are at his mercy.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
September 26, 2018
“Harold, yes it’s bad. Yes, it’s a disaster, but we don’t yet know how bad it is. Panicking will not help, and that’s exactly what you are doing.” Marie spoke with a relaxed tone. Yet another town meeting with a barely-under-control Mayor Harold Myer. She took a deep breath. I am so done with my civic duty. I need a break.
Doc Swanson stood up. “I’m sorry it’s come to this, but I move that Mayor Myer be, what’s the word?”
“Demoted,” said Town Councilperson Irene Eisenberger.
“Okay, demoted,” continued Doc, “and that he be replaced by Marie.”
“Second,” said Irene.
Harold’s jaw dropped.
“All in favor?” Doc looked around. Everyone but Marie responded with “Aye.”
“Opposed?”
“I’m opposed, damn it,” Marie said. “Mayor is the last thing I want to be. I finally found a replacement for Sheriff, and I’m tired. I’m old. Anyone notice that?”
“Motion carried,” said Doc. “I’m sorry did you say something, Mayor Keller?”
She didn’t get a chance to respond, and ex-Mayor Myer didn’t get a chance to storm out, because they all heard shouting from outside. Ecstatic shouting. Marie jumped up and was first to the exit. The deep-throated roar of a jet aircraft hit her in the belly. She ran out into the parking lot and looked toward the sound. A huge military transport, flying low. Too low?
“Doc, do you know what that is?
” she asked when he came up beside her.
Swanson shielded his eyes. “That there be a C17 Globemaster. Has a range of over ten thousand miles.” He saluted it.
“Why is it so low?” Marie watched people on the ground waving, cheering, and jumping up and down.
“Good question. Wouldn’t need to be that low to drop paratroopers. Loud, huh?” Doc had to shout.
Seconds later they had their answer. As the plane passed overhead, an arm snaked out of a porthole, and a burst of confetti-like papers streamed out behind it.
“Leaflets,” Marie said.
Marie and Doc watched the aircraft climb, waggle its wings, and change course.
“On to Marysville,” Doc said.
A young boy came running up with one of the leaflets. She and Doc read it together.
Citizens of the United States
Please take this leaflet to your local seat of government.
All electronic devices within 2,100 miles of Washington DC have been destroyed. Outside of this area, electronics continue to function normally.
A massive resupply operation is underway.
Soon, most towns or areas will receive an air-drop that includes portable radios. Important information will be broadcast around the clock.
Other emergency materials will be supplied by truck, rail, and sea.
Evacuation of those requiring medical attention is planned.
The US Government and the rest of the world are working to provide you with the help you need to recover from this situation. I, President Dane Hallstrom, am directing this effort, via radio, from Washington DC.
Please spread this information.
Please be patient and remain calm.
Sincerely,
President Dane Hallstrom
Ex-Mayor Myer went into the building and returned with a bottle of whiskey and paper cups. They toasted the departing plane, at that point just a speck in the sky.
* * *
September 27, 2018
“Ho! And pull back on the reins like this.” Marie looked at Nobb to make sure he understood. Ah, if I were sixty years younger … “The horses must stop immediately. Never let them continue for even a step or two. This is your emergency command if, say, a harness breaks or if the buckboard fails.”
“Okay, I understand. Let me try again.” Sheriff Patton Nobb had been an American MP in Germany when the die-off hit. The army flew him back to the US to fill in gaps in law enforcement, and Marie gratefully handed the reins over to him. Now he literally held the reins to two massive but gentle Clydesdales, Carol and Calen. “Walk on!”
In some ways, the challenges from the EMP event were more serious than those of the die-off. For law enforcement, the big two problems were communication and transportation. Because of a lack of communication, two major grocery stores were thoroughly looted before law enforcement even knew what was happening.
To counter the transportation issue, Marie had commandeered the buckboard and horse team that had been used to give hayrides at the Happy Earth tourist farm. The buckboard was essentially a big version of a little red wagon, with truck tires and a seat on springs. Marie had driven horses as a child on her farm and was now passing this old-timey skill on to the new sheriff.
“You’re doing fine, Patton, and you’re about ready to fly solo.”
One their way to the Blue Horizon nursing home, they came over a rise next to a picturesque New England field. The picture was spoiled by the two dead cows close to the fence. One was covered with flies, its eyes picked out by birds. It had been partially butchered. The other was newly killed. A small man wearing a watch cap bent over it with a knife. He rubbed his bloody hands down his pant legs and glanced behind him, across the field.
They stopped the team. Nobb climbed over the fence and unbuttoned his holster.
Marie put the brake on, climbed through the fence, and walked over to the scene of the slaughter. She stood to one side and held Nobb’s government issue M4 pointed down.
“How you doing, sir?” Nobb’s muscles resembled those of the Clydesdales behind him, and his shaved head was as shiny and black as an eight ball. “These your cattle?
“Yes, sir, they are.”
The sheriff looked over to Marie. She shook her head.
“Drop your knife and put you hands up,” he said.
Excellent command voice. Marie switched off the safety on her weapon. These were desperate times.
The man dropped the knife but kept his hands down—one in his pocket.
“Officer, my wife needs the meat. We are totally out of food, and she is pregnant.” The man spoke in a shaky voice and kept glancing down behind the cow and over his shoulder. His hand moved around in his pocket.
“Sir, take your hand out of you pocket and put both hands up.” Nobb reached to the empty place on his belt that had held a taser and then moved closer. His arms were relaxed by his side. “Sir, take your hand—” He sprang forward and his right hand smashed into the man’s neck, gripping it just under the jaw. His left hand fastened onto the man’s right wrist. His momentum carried them both to the ground, where Nobb made sure all of the weight of his six-foot-three frame landed on the man’s chest.
Nobb pulled the man’s hand out of his pocket and flipped him onto his back in one smooth motion. Once the cuffs were on, he checked the pocket and pulled out a small handgun. He looked up at Marie, who flipped her rifle’s safety back on and gave Nobb a thumbs up.
She walked around the back of the cow. A rifle leaned up against the carcass. Nobb searched the amateur butcher and sat him up near the cow’s body.
Marie came over to him and squatted down. “Aren’t you Nell Roman’s son?”
The man just looked down.
“Mr. Roman, do you realize what you’ve done? This cow has five hundred pounds of beef on it. That could feed the entire town. You cut off a few pounds and were going to leave the rest to rot.”
Getting no answer, Marie and Nobb stepped away to have a conference. “We’ve got nowhere to put him. The jail is full, and if we bring him in, we’ll have to watch him and feed him,” Marie said.
“Do you think his wife is—”
They both looked over at the noise coming from the buckboard. A man and woman had jumped on and were yelling and whipping the reins to get the horses going. The wheels skidded for a second until the couple figured out how to release the brakes. The police needed that wagon. Nobb yelled for them to stop, grabbed the M4, and sprinted to the road. He steadied the M4 on a fence post, aimed low, and put a warning shot into the driver’s leg. A lucky shot. The driver fell back into the hay and then dropped off the wagon. He hobbled off into the woods. The woman followed.
The horses took off at a gallop. Nobb leaned the rifle against the fence and jogged after them.
Marie looked back from the excitement. Roman was halfway across the field, running with handcuffs on. Thank you, Mr. Roman, for solving our problem. She turned back to the cow.
First, she used Roman’s knife to cut off a large sheet of hide and laid it on the ground, furry side down. Next she set to work butchering the cow, starting with the easiest and best cuts. After forty minutes, Nobb returned, leading the Clydesdales by the harness. Good man.
She waved him over, and they carried the sheet of hide, now filled with beef, over to the wagon and made space for it by removing a bale of hay. Marie brought over another sheet of hide and used it to cover the meat.
Marie said, “We’ll get this grilled down at the commons and feed as many as we can.”
The four remaining cows in the field had watched her do the butchering and were now interested in the hay on the wagon. Marie removed the rails from a section of the fence, grabbed a few handfuls of hay, and enticed the cows to the wagon. Marie and Nobb stepped up into the bench and started the procession back toward town. The four cows followed.
“We’ll keep these cows safe from poachers on the town common, slaughter them in turn, get them butchered properly, and
have a town barbecue every few days.” Marie looked back to make sure they were still following.
“What about the nursing home?” asked Nobb.
“That will have to wait until tomorrow.”
* * *
The next day, when Marie and Nobb were a half-mile from the nursing home, they came upon someone in the road. Nobb pointed him out, and Marie looked at him with the binoculars. Uh-oh.
Nobb halted the wagon, and the man approached them. He looked to be in his mid-seventies and wore only a T-shirt. No pants. He pulled a floor lamp behind him, the electrical plug grasped in his hand. His body leaned forward, and his shuffling steps barely kept him from falling onto his face. His jaw hung down, and his eyes stared ahead.
Marie stepped down from the wagon and took the man by his shoulders. He didn’t acknowledge her in any way. She pulled the cord from his hand. “Sir, would you like to ride with us?”
He didn’t respond but let her lead him over to the wagon. Nobb wrapped him in a foil emergency blanket, picked him up, and positioned him in between some bails of hay.
They climbed back into the driver bench, and Marie looked at their patient. I sure wish we could call for backup. I know what we’re going to find at the home.
When they pulled into the parking area at the Blue Horizon facility, two more patients were on the lawn. One was knitting happily, and the other was searching desperately for something on the ground. The leaves of the trees had started turning, and a pair of squirrels chased each around the trunk of a large maple.
They walked up the steps, and Marie clenched her teeth and opened the doors. They both gasped and stepped back, letting the doors hiss back into place. The combined smell of urine, feces, vomit, and death were beyond anything Marie had imagined.
“We’ve got to do this, Patton. Are you ready?”
When he nodded they held fabric against their noses and opened the doors, latching them open so that fresh air could flow in.
The nurse at the reception area had her head on the desk, as if taking a nap. Marie examined the blood matted in her hair then tilted her head up. A bullet entry hole graced her cheek.